The Winter Season
by PP. Bunny
Summary: The Crestview Hotel, cultural center to the elite members of the world, but like all truly great hotels, there are tales that frighten million. Stan finally gets a job there, its only time until shadows awaken and things go to hell in a hand basket. Style
1. Introduction

Greetings Reader

This is a warning that will cover every chapter of this story so that I wont have to write anything at the beginning of the chapters.

This is a Stan and Kyle Slash story, don't like slash feel free to turn around now. If you happen to hate Stan And Kyle, you should probably turn around as well. Although I'm not a fan of the pair cause their normally too sweet.  
I'm doing this because its going to be fun.  
I don't own any South Park people.

This is a horror story based off of Stephen King's _The Shining. _If this isn't something you might like then a suggest turning back as well. I don't own this idea or the basic concepts of the story. However many of the plot twists will be my own.

By the time this story is finished it will the longest thing I will have ever written.

Matty


	2. Job Interview

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**Job Interview**

Stan Marsh thought: _Fatass little douche. _

Richard Hannon stood five-two and was nearly as wide. He had a brisk and prissy movement to his heavyset form that Stan had thought only Cartman could have achieved. Richard Hannon was a chestnut haired man who was beginning to grey due to his position, his liquid eye rippled with the same hues as his thining hair. But the sharp, crisp part to his hair spoke to Stan in hushed voice. It said to him; I am a man that can help you out of a tight jam but if you fuck with me, be prepared to have your life destroyed. The suit that stretched over his corpulent form was a different story it spoke to the paying customer: Hello Sir/ Madam, how may I assist you. Offsetting the dreariness of grey suit, a pink rose with sat unevenly in his lapel. If it wasn't for this wilting rose, Stan could have mistaken him for a grave robber. _Or an ax murder_

Stan shook his head, where had that come for, although now that he thought about it he could see the Richard Hannon stalking the red-light district, hiding a bloody axe in a trench coat. Stan could tell that this was a man that he wouldn't have liked to meet no matter the circumstances.

Hannon asked a question during Stan's musing and he had missed it. Which was bad; Stan figured the portly man had a mind like the United States archive, he filed everything in there for use later.

"I'm Sorry?"

"I said 'does your wife fully understand the undertaking that you are signing up for.' Also there is your son to consider." Hannon glace down at Stan's application, "Sean."

Stan smiled his big fake newspaper smile, "Yep he does, Kyle is a pretty wonderful man."

"Man?"

"That won't be a problem," Stan liked the look on the fomerly smug man's face, "Will it?"

"Oh, why of course not, but what about your son, is he as wonderful?"

Stan felt that a truthful smile replace his first one, " Yeah, we like to think he's pretty special. I mean he pretty advanced for a five-year-old. It's scary sometimes."

No returned smile from Hannon. Instead he just slipped Stan's application back into the manila folder from when it came and dropped the folder into the open top drawer of the file cabinet. Slamming that one closed, Hannon in a quick movement opened the bottom one and pulled out a thick roll of paper. The rolls were opened and covered the temporally bare desktop. Stan noted the blue paper and white lining as the indication of blueprints.

"Step around the desk and I want to show you the blue prints, Mr. Marsh." Hannon spoke sharply as he smoothed them with his hand.

Stan stood next to the man pressing his shoulder into Hannon's puffy one. It was then that the mixed smell of sweat and Irish Spring soap tap danced into his nose. _Only real men use no cologne, woman enjoy me smelling like a pig _sat in his mind and he had to nearly bit through his tongue to keep his gut full of laughter down. Outside the office Stan could hear the rush of feet heading to the dining room for lunch.

"The top floor," Hannon said promptly, "The attic nothing but there then riff-raff of furniture. Because when the Crestview Hotel has exchanged hands, which has been several times mind you, the new management puts anything it doesn't want up there. I would like you to rat-trap and poison the whole area. Several of the maids told me they heard scrapping noises up there. But I refuse to believe that a single germ-infested rat lives in this hotel." Hannon looked up to make sure Stan was listen; he was but he figured that every hotel, even ones at immaculate as the Crestview had at least two, "Of course you will keep you son away from there."

Who did this fatass little douche think he was. Only an idiot would allow their child to go play around with traps and poisons used to kill small animals. But Stan bite back the snide remark and let Richard Hannon continue his little rant. The first blueprint had vanished and a second one had been put out in its place.

Hannon voice grew light, like a proud father about their child "Third floor consists of thirty rooms, all of which are suites including the Presidential Suite. Ten of them on the West Wing, the same for the Central and East Wings; where the Presidential Suite sits and has the most stunning view of them all."

_Could you at least spare with the sales pitch, I'm going to be working here not staying._

Stan watched again as one blueprint replace another, this time Stan caught the label _First and Second floors_. Hannon didn't even take a moments breath as he dived back into his purposed rant. "These two floor's are self-explanatory, same number of rooms in each wing; there are linen closets on the extreme east side of the Crestview's seconds floor and in the west on the first."

That blueprint vanished more quickly then the other two and the final print glared up at Stan. He hoped to God that this would be the end of Hannon's speech, but he feared Hannon was just warming up and he was going to have to listen to it all. "Lobby level, the registration desk is forty feet from any outer wall on the level; behind it of course are the offices (including this one), as well as the staff apartments. It also consists of the kitchen, dining room, Skyline Lounge, and of course the Emerald ballroom. Do you have any Questions?"

"Just about the basement," Stan said, " as caretaker this winter; that's the most important level for me. It's were the action is right?"

Hannon frowned deeply at the question for two reasons, firstly to show his utter distaste for the question as well as two, proving that as a manager he need not concern himself with things as trivial as the boiler and plumbing. "Jackson will show your that, and the floor plan is on the wall. He will tell you everything you need to know about how to run the facilities during the winter months. Oh! it might also not be a bad thing to put some traps down there."

A pad of paper flashed from Hannon's jacket pocket to the desk (each piece from the pad had _From the desk of the Crestview manager, Richard Hannon _in gold leaf )and then the pad disappeared with it companion pan after Hannon had quickly scribbled something out. It happened so fast it could have been magic; now-you-see-it Stanley, now-you-don't. This guy was a regular wild west badass.

In the time it had taken to write on the pad, they had taken to their original places; the employer and the employee or the master and slave depending on your point of view in the situation. Hannon folded his plump sausage like hands on his desk and looked at Stan with deep set eyes, he looked a lot like a huge toad. (Ribbit-ribbit, Mr. Hannon)

"I want to be frank with you, Mr. Marsh. The Crestview has show it's first profit this season in the longest of ages. Perhaps it's history. But even though our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Testaburger and his lovely daughter have decided to give you a chance. They are not hotel people, Mr. Marsh, they just aren't but the wanted you hired. And only God knows why but I will do so. But know this Mr. Marsh, if it were up to me you would set a single foot in this building this winter."

Stan's hand balled into fists in his lap, crunching up and sweating up the thighs of his khaki pants. _Fatass little douche, Fatass little douche, Fatass- _

"I think you don't care all that much for me do you, Mr. Marsh. Try and imagine how little I care about what you think. But don't get it confused your dislike for me and mine for you had not clouded my opinion of you. For you see during the in-season time there are one-hundred and fifty employees under my control; most of those people probably think of me a complete and utter douche bag. But they would be correct, for I must be this way if the hotel is to run the way it is suppose to be run."

He looked to Stan for a comment but Stan just flashed his newspaper smile and wide as he could; Big, toothy and full of fuck you.

" The Crestview was built in from 1905 to 1907 and it's closest town now is of course South park. But back then, Denver was the closest place to reach. During the winter the road down the mountain is closed off by on average twenty feet of snow. It was built by Ozwald Jackson, the grandfather of our current maintenance man. It was the rest stop for the jet-set, before there were even the thoughts of jets in peoples minds. The Vanderbilts, Rockefellers, Astors and the DuPonts have all stayed here. We have had four presidents stay here; Wilson, Roosevelt, Nixon and Clinton."

"I wouldn't be to proud of Nixon and Clinton if I were you." Stan muttered, biting back a bay of donkey laughter.

"In later years it was bought by a man named, Phillp Pirrip. Self-made millionaire, British entrepreneur and a complete gentlemen."

"I know the name." Stan said

"Yes then you know almost everything he touched turned to gold... the is except for the Crestview that is. The poor man funnel over a million dollars into the Crestview before a single guest returned to it after the war. But he did turn it around into a center for the wealthy again. He even added the roquet court that you admired out front."

"Roquet?"

" The British father of our American game, croquet. Mr. Pirrip was a master of the game and brought here with him when he took over. But even with all the this he did for the hotel it eventually sunk back into disrepair."

Topiary hedges, a roquet court on the front lawn. What could possible be next? A life-sized Janga game behind the hotel? Stan waited for Hannon to continue, which he did with great pleasure.

" Eventually, the hotel was bought up by Mr. Testaburger and his associates. They have brought it back to it glory over the years and even with a few set backs."

"Set backs?" Stan question lightly.

"Oh it's nothing important at all just we have had bad dealings with caretakers before. The first time I hired a family man instead of a single one. This man...this unfortunate man was named Glen Berdly. He had come up here with his wife and two lovely daughters. It turned out that he was a drunk." Stan felt a hot, sick smile grow over his features- the complete opposite of the newspaper smile. "Berdly, during the harshest part winter, loaded up on cheap scotch (which how he obtained is outside my knowledge), killed his wife and daughters as well as himself. He chopped up the girls with an axe, stacking the bodies in an obscure corner of the hotel. Then he found the hunting musket and killed his wife before turning it on himself. It was such a terrible mess."

Stan swallowed heavily before he croaked out, "I still don't see why you think I'm unfit to hold this job, I don't drink anymore."

"Yes Mr. Testaburger's daughter informed me of that, which is probably one of the few reason I'm not demanding to the board of trustees that you don't work here. I'm worried about you, your wife and/ or your son falling grips to cabin fever." Hannon rubbed a hand over his puffy cheek and grin patronizingly. "You do know what that is right?"

"Yes," Stan sighed, "it's a type of claustrophobia that forms when the same group of people are stuck in close quarter for a long time. But I don't see how that could be a problem with my family in a place this size. Plus if the T.V goes down we won't be bored; Kyle's got his art supplies," Stan noticed Hannon flinch, "I have the book I'm working on and Sean has his coloring books," another flinch, "puzzles and I am gonna teach him to read and write."

Richard Hannon looked satisfied finally and rose from his seat yet again. This time when he spook to Stan it sounded like he was trying to be his friend. "I'm going to let Jackson take you down into the basement so he can get you familiar with it's surroundings. As well as instruct you about the boiler. That is unless you have further questions?"

"Nope. None at all."

Hannon nodded, "I hope there are no hard feelings, I just want the Crestview in the best hands possible."

"No, no hard feelings." Stan muttered, flashing his big newspaper smile again. He was glad Mr. Richard Hannon hadn't wanted to shake hands with him. Because there were hard feelings. Every kind of them.

* * *


	3. South Park

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**South Park**

"Pop?" a meek voice whispered and something poked Kyle in his side.

"..."

"Pop, are you asleep?" another poke into his side.

"..."

"Pop, Dad's on the phone." This time, the bulky plastic phone was slipped into his open hand.

Kyle sat up and shook his head of the heavy sleep, he had only meant to take a quick nap; not fall asleep altogether. Running his slender fingers though his fireball of hair, Kyle place the phone softly to his ear. Before he could even begin to speak into the receiver, he could tell that no one had called. (the phone wasn't even on) So he shrugged and placed the offensive plastic monster down on the nightstand and swung his legs over the edge of the bed and planted his feet in the tan shag carpet. Kyle really fucking hated the carpet but it wasn't like they be here to long if Stan got the job.

Standing up out of bed, Kyle laced his hand's together and went through the motions of cracking his body of it's soreness and kinks. As he did so his hands brushed against the ceiling fan and he cursed both his father's genetics for making him tall and the person who installed the fucking fan to begin with; It was a foot and a half down from the ceiling. (Who lived here before Munchkins? Oompa-Lumpas? Santa's elves on summer holiday?)

The red hair man's thought pattern was broken up by the ringing of the telephone. Cocking his head sideways he looked out the bedroom door at Sean who was watching cartoons on the TV. Without thinking Kyle picked up the phone, pressed the talk button and muttered into it.

"Well, how did it go Stan?"

There was a lot of noise coming in on Stan's side, obviously the line had some distance to travel and a dirty old man sitting on it's pole to watch some little boy undress. "Pretty well, I got the job I mean."

Kyle laughed off handedly at the depressed sound Stan had, he sound like he was pouting. "Stan that's so great!"

"Yeah I know it is," Stan paused, "Kyle I need to go, got to learn about the boiler."

"Fun." Kyle laughed again as Stan hung up the phone.

Kyle threw the phone on to the bed and flopped down. Finally some good news in their lives, about damn time too. Of course they wouldn't be in this situation if Stan hadn't blow his job and had taken Wendy father's help much earlier on. If he had done that, Kyle figured, they wouldn't be back in this white trash, closed-minded hick town. Though the two of them had grown up in South Park, Kyle swore when they left he would never comeback to this place. They had had an apartment in Denver ( two bedroom, one bathroom a kitchen, living room and a big old balcony.) but now they were stuck here in a house worse off then Kenny's when they were kids. The whole place smelled of piss and booze, the walls were shitty and falling apart, Kyle was just waiting for the night they got busy and the roof fell in on them.

Chuckling at the idea, Kyle sat himself back upright in his bed and for the first time since he woke up realized he was standing in just his underwear. Normally this wouldn't have embarrassed him but Kyle's crotch area was responded to the lack of attention to it. Blushing, Kyle walked to his bedroom door and yelled out.

"Sean, I'm going to take a shower." He breathed in sharply and hid himself more as his son's eye looked at him, "No drinking poison or juggling chainsaws alright."

The boy giggled out loud and nodded his head back and forth, "Okay Dokay Pop, I'll do that now."

Smiling the red-haired man slipped his bedroom door closed on his son. His son, interesting choice of word because he really does look like a blend between Kyle and Stan; their features blended all over him. He had straight red hair with had grown shaggy and long over the summer, the sun had kissed part of it into strawberry like color. His eye were a warm cobalt-emerald color that shift their intensity from day to day but for most days this summer they had been blue. Looking at this boy it hard to believe that his Daddy and Pop adopted him when he was a week old.

Sean watched the road runner run (_my hands all up and down him tonight. god i cannot believe how much i miss him. jeez one day without him here in the early morning with me and i am stiff as a board. well at least tonight will have a lot of something to work with. oh shit, got to remember to make sure sean's asleep before we do anything tonight. don't want a repeat of last week. christ he scared the crap out of us and god stan looked like he wanted to run _) down the road with the Wil.E. Coyote in hot pursuit. Sean scrunched up his face as his Pops thoughts leaked across from the bathroom and into his head. By concentrating hard enough, Sean could not hear them, which was good; cause Pops bathroom thoughts were weird.

Turning his attention back to the show Sean giggled as the Coyote was crushed by his own invention yet again. Sean had been watching these old cartoon everyday since they had moved to South Park. Sean's boyish giggle stopped as the Coyote stepped back into the frame, this time clasped behind his back was a great big mallet. As the cartoon swung it through the air, the young boy could almost feel wind and hear the swoosh through the air.

Sean turned off the TV just as his Pop came back out from his and Daddy's bedroom. He now had a pair of jean on an a green polo shirt but still walked over bear foot.

"Done with the cartoon's, Champ?" Kyle asked as he looked at Sean, he could see and thin layer of sweat had clung to his face and made him look pale. "Want some lunch?"

Sean popped up so fast that Kyle had to step back slightly so he wouldn't knock his head into anything. The little boy smiled at his Pop and walked into the kitchen, the older red head followed suit. The two walked into linoleum wonderland and Sean pulled out a can of Meatball Spaghetti O's, Kyle swore his son was going to turn into a big lumpy pile of them if he kept eating them so much.

"So Daddy should be home in a little while." Kyle said as he opened the can, with the soft popping sound.

Sean sat at the table, "Maybe not Daddy was worried the van was going to break down. He says the engine is fucking shot."

"Sean!" Kyle slammed the can down on the counter, " Don't say that (cause now I'm gonna worry) its vulgar."

"What's vulgar?"

"Fuck or Fucking. Their vulgar words used by stupid people. Good people don't use words like that" Kyle explained shaking his head.

Sean pouted for a second, "But Daddy says it, isn't he a good person?"

Kyle didn't answer his son, he simple scooped the rest of the offending noodles into a white bowl and popped open the oven. Slamming the door back into it's place, Kyle and Sean both jumped, he hadn't meant for it two be so loud and to scare Sean. Or himself for that matter. Tapping his foot softly to some forgotten tune, Kyle watched numbers on the microwave scroll down. Sighing heavily the older redhead turn to his son to speak.

"Yes he is a good person, but Daddy is also an adult, so he can do or say thing when he wants."

Sean's brows furrowed in thought as he spoke, "So when I'm an adult, I can say it."

"Yeah sure," Kyle chuckled his son's thinking face, "cause I won't be able to stop you."

"When?"

This time Kyle's eyebrows pulled together into a more mature version of Sean's thinking face before his laughed out again, " Not until your thirty-five, got it Champ?"

"Okay Pop." Sean nodded excitedly as Kyle removed the now semi-warm, white glass bowl from the oven.

The spoon moved back and forth so quickly that Kyle swore the creamy red goop just vanished from the bowl. Kyle walked to the refrigerator and grabbed a half empty Diet Coke (cause Stan's worried about his weight). After gulping down the foul liquid Kyle failed to repress a grimace from the taste, which caused Sean to giggle furiously. Weight had never been something Kyle had to concern himself with since he always ate small meals . Which was what made him and Stan such and odd couple; while Stan was about half a foot short then Kyle's lanky form, he outweighed Kyle by a good forty pounds.

"Pop? Why is you and Daddy so dead set on this job?" Sean question, face covered in a thin layer of the tomato sauce.

Kyle flinched at the question, he knew this would come up soon but he really wished Stan had been here. " Why are Daddy and I," he corrected, "Well because this might be the only thing the get after what happened his Denver."

"You mean when Daddy punished the boy who wrote on the van?" Sean questioned innocently but with an undertone of fear. Kyle was taken back by the phrasing of his child's word but couldn't argue with the effectiveness of them. So instead of words, he simply nodded a response to his son's question and picked up the now empty bowl. He had been put into a trance-like state by the words and barely acknowledge Sean's words of his departure to wait for Daddy.

"Damn It Stan!" He growled once he saw Sean throwing his Frisbee outside.

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	4. Meyers

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**Meyers **

Stan stood waiting in the open lobby of the Crestview hotel and tried to imagine it completely empty as it would be this winter. (Game over man) He found it impossible because no matter how hard he tried he could still her the old geezers chatting and the mothers gossiping, the fathers and businessmen talking. Even the children screams invaded his thought bubble. ( In space no one can here you scream.) Stan shook the thought from his head, where the fuck had that come from it was so completely random. Slipping open his eyes, Stan moved the from the Lounge where though poor (happy-go-lucky friends) bastard were drinking.

Instead his eyes slipped on to a picture that was hanging in the lobby, probably one of the only ones that didn't match the interior decoration of the hotel. It was a large oil painting, a portrait of a boy or perhaps a teenager is a better way to put it. There within the frame, the boy looked out at Stan from behind black thin framed glasses and a mop of curly blue-black hair. The boy's green eye glinted as though the lighting of the lobby itself was being reflected in them, they were soft yet cold green hues; much harder then Kyle's. The boy was dressed in a scarlet shirt with it throat left open to show a black chain around his neck. Down under the picture was a small, engraved silver plate:

_Matthias Crestview _

_1870-1887 _

"Boy was only seventeen when he died, the original owner of the hotel." A voice spoke from behind Stan.

Stan didn't the he had been started any more in his life, unless you counted the day his father had his first stroke. But for those of you who will ignore that small detail, this if Stan's most shocking moment of his life. Now Stan didn't exactly scream for his life, because that would make him a fag, which he wasn't so he released a manly shriek of surprise.

"My god you looked like you seen a ghost," the man said pleasantly as he continued still just as pleasant, "Or had a hot fire-poker shoved up your ass quite repeatedly."

The man who had spoken was at least a couple years older then Stan but his long greasy hair and sickly pale skin betrayed his age for that of a much older man. The lanky thin arms brushed the hair away from his gaunt features. The man was quite plain, you could have passed him on the street and not given him a passing glance, unless you saw the smirk on his lips. The lips were razor straight through most of his mouth but as they reached the ends of his mouth. Then the corners of flesh twisted up slightly giving his mouth a sort of un-trustable sneakiness.

"God you scared me, Mr. ...Jackson?" Stan said offering his hand, but the man swiped it away.

"Jackson's been gone for two whole years now but does that prissy-bitch Hannon notice?" The man laughed softly at his own little insult before continuing, "Nope he doesn't, anyway name Meyers, Josh Meyers."

The pair shook hands briefly as Meyers ushered him towards the stairs by the elevator. Instead of taking the golden, grated car, Meyers steered himself and Stan into the small alcove that hell a small door to the basement. Before his actions could be explained the door was opened and the lights were flicked on as the pair proceeded down the wooden diagonal ladder.

Answered Stan's unasked question, Meyer spoke just a vulgar as before, " I hate to uses those nasty, butt-fucking cars because one took my finger off once."

To display that he wasn't bullshitting the younger man, Meyers pulled his right hand out of his pocket and displayed the missing ring finger. The nub was old but defiantly caused my the shearing action of an elevator slicing though flash and bone. (Blood, Blood, gallons of the stuff) Stan all at once felt sick to his stomach by the very idea that such a thing could happen to a person.

"So," Stan gasped trying to take his brain out of the subject. "what am I going to have to worry about down here this winter?"

"Not much really." Meyers said slowly, "I will have had all the pipes insulated and the whole area protected against frost."

"Kay."

Meyers snapped his fingers and his face lit up as if he had solved the worlds greatest problems. AIDs, fascism, discrimination, cancer with a simple cure. He spoke quickly with a great amount of excitement. " You have to set rat traps in the storage area and off coarse heat the hotel."

"About the heating..."

"Oh yes, well let me explain, why how rude of me." Meyers walked Stan around a wall and once he did a thick heat that Stan could only equal to the dry steam rooms of the bathhouses hit him. " This is bertha! This fat cunt has been the heater for Crestview since the beginning. She probably doesn't even hold up to the rest of the substandard equipment that I've had fix every year but the fat prick Hannon won't shell out a dime."

(cheap prick)

Stan looked at the massive heating unit like he looked at his grandfather when he was a kid. Like it was bloated, gassy, cranky and if not carefully monitored, more then likely going to blow its top. The brown metal groaned slightly as to agree with Stan's amateur assessment of it. The pressure gauge lit up during this little groan and Meyers couldn't have looked any happier in his life.

"Perfect timing on our part." Meyers clapped, " Okay, dump the pregnant, gas-ridden cunt-licking bitch."

Stan flinched at the words that seemed to just flow out of Meyers' sly, half smile. Placing both hands on the oversized rusted-metal ring and pulled harshly; at first the metal didn't want to move or even budge slightly but then like water bursting free the wheel gave way. The release was shortly followed by a washing wave of steam that curled around his ankles. These gusts off steam made it difficult but not impossible to hear the rest of Meyers' warning.

" You're gonna need to watch her, she's a sneaky bitch. She steadily creeps all the time and if you don't dump her you and your family likely to wake up in La-La-land. I'd never let the fat cow get to 200psi or pop (goes the weasel and the weasel goes pop)."

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	5. Shadowland

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**Shadowland **

At the same time that Stan was rising from the basement of the Crestview Hotel, still receiving instruction on his necessary chores to be done during the winter from Meyers, his son was sitting on the front step of their house. Having just returned from the bathroom, Sean sat there and tried to flush his Pop's thoughts from his head; he was worried about Daddy. Pop had been worrying about Daddy a lot lately. This worry was different from worry that his Pop had been having before, this worry was about all of them an how (_this hotel is the last chance we have to fix our marrage and turn around this fucked up spiral that we seem to be caught in now. stan needs this, i need this, hell even sean needs this to happen. unless i take him to stay with my mother. no! i wont to that. i wont leave him with that bitch_) they were going to live from now on.

Finally filtering the last of his Pop's final glimmering thoughts out, Sean began his search for his Daddy.

Sean knew there was something different about him but didn't know what. He knew things, understood things and people deeper then they themselves sometimes. Not just how they worked but it was like he could see inside them, into their brains. But it wasn't just people Sean could do this actiong to, when he was only a few month past his first birthday he figured out how to undo the child gate on the stairs at his daycare. His Daddy called it having the nack, he said some people could just do thing that others couldn't.

"Daddy." Sean whispered breathlessly as he gazed across the street.

The was a man much older then his father was walked down the street, in his hand was clutched a piece of paper and the man was thinking about, ( _that bitch how dare she put a restraining order on me_), he ex-wife. With that hurt thought the sky seemed to open up like a river of color, from the top of the man's head was a purple ribbon that seemed to trial of in the opposite direction of the walking man. Sean's mind followed the thought till it twisted into a spiral with a bright pink but much thinner string. This was the woman's thoughts, she was ( _gonna enjoy this boy, oh yeah . always thought skiers were cute_) Sean spring boarded from the woman's thoughts to the young man's, whose brilliant green cord of thought launched Sean's mind on a trip towards the mountains. Then with his thoughts hijacking this man, Sean found a familiar white twine of his Daddy's brain. He was half way home if not more because of how short his trip with the skier's thoughts had been.

_-Seeeaaannn, Seean- _

The linkage of thoughts was destroyed by this cooing voice, which sliced through the thoughts like a hatchet though butter. Sean tensed slightly having been cut-off so violently from the others minds and took a second before he had gathered himself. It was Andy, Sean's imaginary friend, and as relaxed as Sean had been before: he suddenly became so motionless that anybody on the street would have thought the boy had fallen asleep.

_-Andy, where are you?- _

Sean practically screamed in his head, trying make his body or even his head turn and look for his friend. But it was like watching a movie, Sean could only see what was in front of him; which currently was an uninteresting garden full of blooming plants and flowers. For just a moment the young boy's eyes unfocused and Sean thought he had gone blind until they snapped back on the image of the flower bed which now had all of the flowers in diffrent stages of being burnt or burning as a figure watched them smolder. The body turn and from beneath a dark-blue zip-up sweatshirts hood a voice addressed him from across the street.

_-Daaangerrrr Seean!- _

Sean thought hard to get his message to Sean _-Danger where Andy! Where is Danger!- _

Instead of a message however, the world fell away from the two of them like dust in the wind. Leaving Sean and the hooded figure in a sea of blackness. Sean whipped his vision around, trying to find Andy but only seemed to find more nothingness. Andy had left him all alone here with nothing but the darkness to comfort him. No sooner had this thought passed into Sean conscious mind, did his surroundings change. It was like when the TV's antenna stopped working there were large flaky chunks of white that seemed to roll down all around him. It was then that a strong bitterness washed over him, the chunks were cold. these pasty clumps were snow.

Floating in the midst of this falling snow, Sean eye's found a light; it was a building. The building was a hotel, with its pristine white sides and reddish brown shingles. This was where Daddy had just got his job, the Crestview. It seemed to Sean that in the snow and poor lighting of the darkness, the Crestview was grinning hungrily at him. Almost as if on cue, the building contorted into a macabre skull and a skeletal hand reached out and pushed Sean into its ravenous maw.

The new darkness cleared much earlier then before and this time, Sean found his feet planted softly on the floor. The floor was a rich, aqua-like color that rippled and splashed like water around Sean's feet; he swore he could see the shadows of fishes under the water. The walls were a sandy, rosy colored wallpaper that gave off the presence of a canyon or a labyrinth, the sunken-in lighting did nothing two shake this feel.

_-COME HERE YOU DICKLICKER! COME TAKE YOUR GODDAMN MEDICINE!- _

The voice roared angrily from somewhere near-by but still very far away. It was full of hatred and rage but its word were slightly slurred and hazed by something else. Yet through all this there was something oddly familiar about the voice,soemthing frighteningly comforting, even though it's owner had probably never used that sentence before.

That wasn't what frightened Sean, it was what followed the harsh words; the sound of something large passing through the air quickly and slamming into the wall with a thud, which released a puff of drywall dust as it destroyed the wall. This sequence was met with the rapid footfalls of a heavy-bodied monster.

_-WHERE ARE YOU? YOU LITTLE SHIT-EATTING BITCH! COME TAKE IT LIKE A MAN!- _

(_Whizz_)

(_ Good stroke old bean!_)

(_THUMP_)

(_Thizz_)

(_Really crushed that one!_)

(_WHUMP_)

(_Wosh_)

(_You going to hurt someone!_)

(_BUMP_)

The swinging monster was getting closer and closer to the spot Sean had become rooted to by the death noise. The heavy foot-falls got so close that Sean saw the air ripple as the monster swung the object yet again. Then its contact was trailed by the footsteps of the beast as it entered the same section of the hallway that Sean was standing in.

The monster cocked its head sideways, almost as if it didn't know what to do with Sean at this moment. Blood, sweat, vomit and another smell hung around the beast and was nearly intoxicating to Sean's nose from the distance he was at right now. The monster's blood-stained shirt was incredibly taunt around his whole frame. However, while the arms and chest of the shirt were filled with bulging muscles from at least two months of strenuous labor, the lower half of the was filled with a rather over stuffed stomach, one that had been eating quite well and was bloated and fat from it as a result.

(_RELLIK)_Gripped in the dirty hand's of the monster was a mallet, one similar to the one Sean had seen in the cartoon. (_RELLIK)_ Only this short handled one was matted with blood and its unsoft, wooden side had become splintered by the misuse of its form as a weapon. (_RELLIK)_ The beast with it's weapon in hand, looked down at the boy, it's sharp eyes piercing the darkness that was flooding back in. (_RELLIK) _

_-NOW BY CHRIST AS MY WITNESS! YOUR GOING TO COME HERE AND TAKE YOUR FUCKING PUNISHMENT!- _

Sean turned tail and began to run as quickly as his feet would carry him, but as he did so the bulky monster swung the mallet and struck him in the shoulder. The boy let out a shriek of pain even though it had been dulled by the fading of the connection as he was returned to the real world. It was at this same time that his Daddy's van pulled into the driveway of the house. Sean rushed over to greet his Daddy in a hug and he wrapped his arms around his Daddy, as he did this both his terror and heart rate decreased. That was until his Daddy opened up the passenger-side door.

The seat was caked with blood both dry and fresh that had either rolled or dripped off of the splintering mallet that had been placed into the car. The nauseating smell of gore came and washed over Sean like a dark tsunami, turning his head away from the seat, Sean gripped his Daddy's leg even tighter.

"Something wrong Champ?" His Daddy asked him.

When Sean looked back into the car, it was clean. There was no blood, no smell, no mallet and certainly there was no longer chunks of curly red hair.

"No Daddy." Sean replied monotone

His Daddy left his side and walked into the house, but not before closing the door. Once inside, Sean knew that his Daddy and his Pop would be in each others arm. He knew that their lips would meet and their tongues would dance. He knew that later on that night the two of them would be together and their passion and lustful thoughts would keep his awake until they fell asleep or he walked in on them. (Scaring them into stopping)

But this thing, the mallet and the monster, was different from this normal knowledge he had or had ever been shown. It was the first thing Andy had ever shown him that were dark and evil, the images were fading quickly from Sean's young mind. In fact now only one thing stuck in the young boy's mind; a single word, a label on the mallet.

_**RELLIK **_

_**RELLIK **_

_**RELLIK **_

_**RELLIK **_

* * *


	6. Phone Call

**

* * *

**

Phone Call

Stan wasn't sure why he was even sitting here at his desk to begin with, it was ten minutes past nine and Sean had been soundlessly asleep for almost two hours now. Stan knew he should be in bed with Kyle, bringing the whole place down around them in a celebratory two-person orgy; but Kyle was alone in bed with his smaller sketch pad. So here Stan sat, at his desk because his mind was to full at the moment to even think of his love at this time. Stan would tell his former students at his old English job, that a writer never wrote his story. True it was the authors hand's that typed it out or brought it to reality but it was the story which found the author. Stan knew this because of the four stories he had written (One short novel and three short stories) never worked out like he planed; character grew and developed in way he didn't think up, they said things he never expected them to say, and something their endings didn't even match the original concept at all.

Stan was like a bridge for these tales to reach the paper or the screen as the case maybe, Stan also knew that he couldn't force the characters or plot to go in a way that would make less of a story or destroy the idea completely. This was why Stan sat at this laptop and glared at the blank word processor, because the stories were fighting but not actually passing into his mind or on to the page.

Growling in his throat, Stan closed down his blank document and opened the internet up on a whim. Bringing the Goggle search page up, Stan felt his hands begin to type in the words into the textbox (_The Crestview Murder_) of their own volition and entered. The slow dial-up of the shack that they had proclaimed residence whined at the amount of information that was being dragged off of the utopia of sex and porn know as the World Wide Web.

As he waited for the pages to load his hands drifted across the landscape of his desk, tracing over some old dog-eared copies of some Stephen King novels; pushing them aside Stan picked up a hardbound children's book up from the clutter. It was (_And Tango Makes Three_) an old one but one that Stan thought was oddly cute for Sean to pick out since it was about two gay penguins who together hatch an egg and raise a chick of their own.

This book had made its own history within their family as it was the bleakest moment of the darkest days of Stan's drinking problem. ("_You son of a bitch!" Kyle's voice screamed at Stan as he pulled Sean away from his grip.)_

(_What had he done? One minute he goes of from his office to grab the phone from the kitchen, next he finds himself back in the study. Now in shambles, the room looks as though a small bomb had gone off in the middle; right on top of the desk. Paper everywhere and each little ink letter screamed as the drowned in the flow of beer that came from his overturned can._

_See it flow, watch it go_

_Holding the can with both pudgy hands, Sean looked up as his Daddy and smiled. His giggling intertwined and mixed with the shrieking of his dying printed letters into a mocking choir. _

_Stan saw only red._

_What happened next was not very clear in Stan's mind as his body stalked over to his small cherubic son. Swatting the can from Sean's tiny hands Stan gripped the boy's forearm with a vise-like clamping, Sean wriggled under the stiff hold of his Daddy. For the first time since Stan reentered the room, Sean's face grew gaunt with fear. Whipping his small body around, Stan's broad hand viscously smacked Sean's diapered bottom three time. _

_Ffwap!_

_Ffwap!_

_Ffwap!_

_As the final smack struck the bottom of Sean, his Daddy released the hold on his arm; this change of control caused his body to fling forward. This should have just made Sean fall to the floor with no injuries, just a sore butt. However, the karmatic and cruel fates decided that the new book Sean had gotten would be laying on the floor. So when his small, bare foot stepped on to it he slid forward and bashed his head on to the desk corner._

_There, sitting on his sore bum, Sean began to cry big fat warm tears. Sean looked at him dumbly as though he couldn't process what was happening and what he should do, after all he was trapped behind the curtain of red. However, when the rives of blood began to roll down his son's forehead; it cleared the mental haze like a strong wind._

"_Oh god Sean! Please it's all right," Stan practically begged in his slurred voice as he placed a hand on his son's shoulder, not forgetting the feeling of Sean flinching away. "Please Champ! I didn't mean it, I didn't honest."_

_That was when Kyle came in.)_

Suddenly the computer pinged, breaking the horrid memory of the busted and alerting Stan that the search had finished. Stan whistled as he looked at the number of returns he had been given, "God damn, I guess this shit's pretty fucking popular (at least more so then clitoris)."

Chuckling softly to himself Stan clicked open the first link and was surprised by how fast it loaded up. The page was fairly boring, it was after all CNN's website, but what caused Stan to jump back in a kind of fright was the image of the prior winter caretaker. The name that had been given originally was obviously fake, whether Hannon knew or not (he probably knew exactly who he and his family were but needed the caretaker cheap or some shit) because the piercing blue eye's that stared out from the old mug shot was obviously Trent Boyette. Although his blonde hair had been clipped from a mullet to more of a comb-over to hide the receding hair line that had developed, his face still captured his hatefulness towards the world. This guy was wanted in three states for assault with a deadly weapon and one charge of attempted murder. At least as far as this article stated here.

Shutting down the monitor, Stan glared at the sticky note that hand been placed in the top right corner of the screen. Kyle had put it there for after the interview, so he could let them know he had gotten the job, but Stan's pride welled up inside his and he turned to leave the room. But before he could even get two steps from his desk, the image of Kyle's face forced him back. Roughly grabbing the note from the screen, Stan punched the number in Kyle's curvy hand writing. The phone rang, it rang again, and it rang for a third time before it turned over to a message.

"Hello," The answering machine stated in a male voice, "you reached the Cartman residence. We're not home right now, please leave a message and we'll get back to you. That is unless we don't feel like it."

Stan sighed just before the beep. "Hey Wendy, It's Stan. I decided to call and let you know that I've been given the job at Crestview as the winter caretaker. But you probably already knew that didn't you. Anyway I want to thank you and your father for pulling some strings to get me an interview, I owe you so much now."

Stan was about to hang up the plastic white connection when he muttered into it, "If you're listening to this like I know you are Fatass, you can go and suck my gay balls."

* * *


	7. A Peek at Crestview

**

* * *

**

**A Peek at Crestview**

Kyle was claustrophobic; this was a fact that plagued him since he was fourteen and (His super-self-fulfilling bitch of a mother locked him into the dry pantry for the day. It was do much motherly love towards her gay son) made most small areas impossible to tackle. Such as the elevator in their own old apartment or as the current case may be; riding in the van. This isn't to say that the van wasn't roomier in fact, Kyle could have stretched out completely but it wouldn't have mattered.

The fact that they were currently into the third hour in the bug heading up the mountain from South Park was grinding on him. This added to the fact that what started out as a four lane highway and narrowed into one lane and the guard rail, which had run on Kyle's side of the car, vanished a few miles back. Every pop of the engine or whine of the clutch sent the older man clinging for both his husband and child. Because, in the elder redheads mind they were all hated by God and therefore targets. The Jew, the Fag and the unbaptized child; they were a great big target for a landslide (or a truck to ram them off).

Sean turned and looked as his pop with a funny look and said "It's okay Pop, we are almost there."

"Yeah Kyle," Stan said as the downshifted around the corner, "The employee parking is up ahead."

Kyle arched his eyebrow at his lover's statement.

"Yeah there is but it's a long ass haul to the hotel and we have to walk." Stan said answering the unasked question, "And why is that Sean?"

Sean's nose scrunched up as he thought up an answer; then clear as glass his Daddy's thoughts rained in. His small face lit up like a light bulb and he began to speak. "Because Mister Hannon is a cheap son of a bit-"

" What!?What!?What!? Stan, why are you telling him things like that?" Kyle snapped; hand still over his son's mouth. "You'd better swallow the rest of that word, Young man."

"Wow Kyle, be any more like your mother?" Stan muttered.

Kyle's face grew pale and flushed at the idea that he had just mimicked his mother's most common form of address the words that killed his face. Kyle supposed that was being over dramatic but his poor father had put up with the fat dragon for over 25 years of marriage and he guessed that finally the bitching had become too much for him. Otherwise Kyle didn't think many people would take a power drill to their ear.

And it takes sheer dedication to take it to the other one afterwards.

The memory that Kyle hadn't attended his father's own funeral just to avoid his mother barely made him cringe as Stan pulled off the road and into a nearly abandoned parking lot. Stan pulled the ancient van into an empty space and threw it into park swiftly. The two men and one boy got out of the car with a slow grace, cracking stiffness out of their joints from the long time in transit. After a few minutes of stretching themselves out, Kyle turned his head towards the hotel that would be his home for the next three and a half month of his life.

Kyle was stunned

It wasn't that the Crestview was large; no in fact to call it large would actually be offensive. The sheer shadow that it cast from up its hill reached out like a hand and tried to claw at their ankles. The copper-red roof blended into the autumn trees that filled the back drop of the Crestview's image. His eyes as well as Stan's fell to the path which lay out in front of them like a twisted joke version of the wizard of oz.

(_fuck that is gonna be a long walk I mean Christ could that cheap prick put it any farther away from the building_)

Sean smiled lightly as that quick thought leaked out of both his Daddy and his Pop's head at the same time. But what had captured the young boy attention was not the path with they were going to have to go up but the three figures coming back down the path. They were all male, it could be figured out from their voices.

"David, Ryan" The man in back called, "slow down you asshole we got the whole winter to be away from this place."

The boys were a good ten feet in front of the other man and Sean could see them more clearly than the one in back. They walked with purple collared polo shirts thrown over their shoulders; one had hair that sprung out from his head the same way and color as his Pop the difference was that his Pop would never have been caught in a Denver Nuggets jersey or any jersey for that matter. (_David_)The other boy looked like a smaller version of his Daddy only his Daddy despised dressy shirts; well actually any shirt that could be buttoned up. Which was what this boy was wearing (_Ryan_)

Suddenly without even trying the area around them exploded into color, from Ryan's head a sharp green billowed out and twisted in together with a cool blue that fuses back into David's red hair. But that wasn't strange in signified the two boys were in fact twins; what Sean saw as strange was the large pink ribbon that pulsed out from both boys chest. It made seeing them almost impossible as they were surrounded by it like a cocoon of pink; only true love made that.

The pair passed by Sean with little acknowledgement but their friend came into view. He was somewhere between Daddy and Pop's height and the black shirt matched his shaggy hair, the longish bangs had been pulled away from his glasses whose thin frame boxed in kind blue eyes. Then unlike the boys, Sean tried to see his mans ribbon. The world became a negative when he did it, the man turned into a shadow what continued to move; first it had no ribbon what-so-ever but then from his head, heart and every other part of his body orange ribbon spilled out into and image of a huge bird. Heat poured off of the bird and the whole thing burst into fire before the world returned to normal.

"Cute kid." The man muttered as he walked past Sean.

Stan and Kyle who had been engrossed in the upcoming task didn't notice the flush that had broken out along with the cold sweat. Turning back around Stan smiled at Sean, the boy tried to smile back and hoped it passed off for on. It did even though he could still feel the heat in the center of him; Sean had never seen that happen with any person he tried to open. It made the boy even more uneasy about this hotel.

"You ready champ?" His Daddy asked him.

Sean couldn't bring himself to lie so he just shook his head violently.

* * *


	8. Checking In

**

* * *

**

**Checking In **

The great lawn was immaculate Stan noticed as they all walked past the children's playground; Sean seemed the only one of the trio not taking an interest in the slides or the monkey bars or even in large metallic jungle gym half-sphere. A cold wind whipped across the playground as caused all three males to shiver softly and cross their arms over themselves to keep warming themselves. As they continued up the lawn they passed several men in the same maroon-ish polo that the guy from the parking lot had with them. These polo wearing men were the grounds keepers and were collecting the equipment off the lawn, large colored wooden balls and equally oversize mallets.

_(Whizz) _

_(RELLIK) _

_(Thump) _

_(Thizz) _

_(RELLIK) _

_(Whump) _

_(Wosh) _

_(RELLIK) _

_(Bump) _

Sean quickly shook the thoughts from his head and noticed his Pop's face temporarily hold a dark hazed look about him and his eyes; it passed in an instant and wasn't addressed. As they got closer to the building, a pair of figures came into view on the wide porch of the Crestview's front entrance.

One of the men was lanky silhouette against the white wooden walls and railing, made slightly more bulky by the heavy down jacket which hugged his frame. The other was nearly the width of the doorway and his corpulent frame shivered violently from the cold winds that whipped around him. Their words slipped away in the cool wind, leaving them more like bobbing headed statues, as the three males approached the pair the contrasting shadows turned around towards them.

Hannon; the bulky shadow, was obviously displeased about something. The fury was well hidden beneath the layers of pleasantry but along his flabby jaw line the rage peaked out from behind his calm expression. Meyers on the other hand was exactly like the day that Stan had been given the tour of the basement facilities. The razor thin lips were twisted into its pseudo-psychotic grin and his ink like hair spilled down over the back of his jacket collar.

"Why, Hello my friend!" Meyer's eyes lit up with joy as he spoke but restrained his foul mouth in front of Sean, "Fuc-Frickin' glad to see you here so early, aren't we Dick(_head_)?"

"Quite so Joshua," Hannon's voice cut in quickly, "This is your Husband and son, I suppose?"

Stan flushed slightly at the fact that he hadn't introduced his family, "Yes this is Kyle and Sean"

To the two redheads, Hannon spoke crisply and in a thick tone of superiority that made Kyle want to just slug the corpulent bastard in his fat, round mug. "You may enter and wait in the lobby while I inform Mr. Marsh about some changes to the work he may have to do, and then we will give you a tour."

"Fine, c'mon Sean"

"Yes Pop." Sean said as they passed though the front door.

The glare that both Stan and Meyers gave the fat bag o' douche would have made any normal person cringe or shutter but not this man; nope he was a real hard ass. He simply turned his back away from them and cleared his throat. Hannon clear his windpipe with a thick hack before he let the words slid over the slick tongue.

"Well Mr. Marsh we seem to have hit a problem in which will alter your job slightly." Hannon picked each word like he was selecting a choice cut of meat.

"What do you mean alter my job?" Stan voice grew tight.

Meyers spoke now, "Nothing really just the fatass cunt busted a gasket about a week back so when the pressure from the boiler is let out you have to be sure that you tighten the gasket up around the cum dumpsters neck."

Both men flinched at the careless use of Meyers word but neither did anything to stop the greasy haired man for spouting off more random insults and curses as he walked down the front steps. He was heading back down the path that Stan and his family had just come up from; he was leaving (for greener pastures). Hannon tapped Stan's shoulder and the pair turned and passed into the main lobby of the hotel. As the door swung and clicked back closed behind them, the last of the chilly wind was cut off in the warm air of the lobby. Stan's eyes wanted to wander over the room and breath it all in but his cobalt hues were drawn directly to the painting on the wall.

It was that damn (motherfucking crazy-ass) portrait, Matthias Crestview; oddly Stan didn't feel the same chill and hypnotic terror that he did the first time. Cocking he head in a dog like manner, Stan noticed why he didn't feel this; the portrait wasn't looking at him. As oddly as it sounded to himself, Stan swore the painting's eye were locked down on Sean. The little boy stood there, red haired head tilled backwards and looked back at the picture.

"Mr. Marsh!" Hannon snapped quietly but effectively, "Gather your husband and child, I wish to give you the tour of the upper floors before I turn you over to Delorne."

"Kyle, come on I'll grab Sean." Stan muttered as he passed his husband who was conversing with two nuns and a rabbi.

As Kyle headed off towards Hannon's bulky form, Stan strode purposefully to his son. Avoiding the portrait itself, Stan lifted Sean and swung him around as though he was playing a game. If Sean had noticed the semi-fearfully look that passed momentarily across his Daddy's face is unknown because the little redhead giggled in delight at the game. Still walking purposefully away from the painting, Stan felt a stutter of cold run though him as the thought of the paintings harsh green eye on his back; glaring through him to Sean.

Walking away from the lobby, both Stan and Kyle's steps synced with one another (an old habit from younger days), Sean found this odd and giggled even more happily as he noticed that it was occurring below him. The pair moved to the old elevator and their pace slowed, Kyle's because his chest was gripped by claustrophobia and the idea (of the Donors...yum yum...eat 'em up) of getting stuck in that old car made his head spin. Stan slowed because he knew Kyle was having issues about the elevator cart.

"It's okay Pop," Sean smiled at his red-haired father, "It's just an elevator nothing bad will happen (_even though that cheap prick hannon hasn't had it look at since it was installed.)_."

Stan shook his head of that thought, why did he think that on to the end of his son's statement? What was going on in that head of his?

The raven haired man had no time to dwell on these thoughts as Hannon rushed them into the tiny car, which groaned under Hannon's weight as he stepped into the car. Kyle gripped heavily onto Stan and Sean as this happened, fear settling in every part of him. As the old grated gate snapped into place and the car lurched down slightly before rising up on its track; Kyle's mind pictured the four of them trapped in the elevator (stuck there for the whole winter, growing thinner and thinner, bones showing more and more as the days passed onward. All there stomachs distended from malnourishment as well and the fullness from consuming their recently deceased cell mate) for several hours.

These thoughts followed Kyle as the elevator rose floor after floor until, slowly after the signal click for the top floor had gone off Hannon eased off the lever and the car came to a stop. The gate pulled back along its metallic track and it was then that the adults noticed that the car was half a foot below the actual floor of the hall. Kyle was overcome with the sensation that something was wrong with the world.

"You are about enter a place." Stan whispered into Kyle's ear, "A dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. A place of things and ideas nestled between the pit of Man's fears, and the summit of his knowledge. You are entering a zone of the mind and imagination of man, where any thought can become a reality."

"Shut up Stan." Kyle snapped back.

Hannon, who had been lost in the nauseating effect of the uneven floors, coughed and through the lever up and brought them all to the right plane. Although, as they all left the tightly packed car, Kyle noticed that the car itself was actually still an inch lower then the floor.

"Here we are." Hannon said gesturing to the long winding hall. "Top floor."

Sean's mind flashed the images of his nightmare for a few weeks prior back over his vision. The sandy tan walls and the sunken lights didn't give the same feeling of a cavern or canyon as in the horrid vision. Neither did the blue patterned carpet look or feel as wet; it was solid. Hannon seemed to actually noticed someone beside himself as he began to speak about the carpet.

"Yes its refurbished from the original print, note the silhouettes of fish within the pattern." The fat man offered, "Quite a beautiful quality carpet , If i do say so myself."

Stan smirked "Yeah its lovely, for a cheesy 1950's look"

"Stan!" Kyle gapped.

Hannon said nothing however and just began to walk down the hall. Sean noticed his Pop giving Daddy a glare and mouthing something that the little red head was unable to make out. The three followed Hannon and were unable to miss him as his ass seemed to wait several seconds after he made a turn just so they would be able to know where he went. The door's of every suite were a light finishes and nearly blended into the wall except for the large brass number fixed to their faces and the rounded elegant knobs.

(_-NOW BY CHRIST AS MY WITNESS! YOUR GOING TO COME HERE AND TAKE YOUR FUCKING PUNISHMENT!-_)

The words thundered into Sean's brain as the hallway opened up into a small lounge area, with two reading tables with matching lamps and a pair of plush, high-backed chairs placed at opposite corners of the square room. In the center of the far wall was a set of darkly stained, nearly black doors with no markings or numbers and an overindulgent handle/ knob combination. Even as he felt the touch of his Pop and Daddy, Sean felt a chill grip him even as Hannon spoke about the area they were in.

"The President's Suite" Hannon said proudly as he opened the dark double door.

Could Sean have seen the suite in the way his parent did, he would have been floored by its beauty. This was because the whole wall of the living area was a solid plane of glass, that within it's edges captured the peaks of five different mountains; with all of them being eastern set this room must have gathered the most beautiful sunsets daily. Sean however couldn't see this because his vision was obscured but the wash of crimson that covered large part of the glass and the wall; on the crimson was flecks of pinkish goo.

"Now then," Hannon spoke Kyle directly as he closed the door, "Lets get back down to the kitchen so that Delorne can show you around while I finish up with your Husband."

"Kay" Kyle muttered dumbly.

* * *


	9. Delorne

**

* * *

**

**Delorne**

Christophe Delorne was nothing like the imagined appearance that Kyle had pictured in his head. This was because Kyle had a stereotyped image of what the head chef of a high class hotel, like The Crestview, should look like. The image that the red-haired man normally conjured up in the depths of his mind for a French chef would have been a short squatty man with a thin mustache or goatee; one that looked almost as though it was drawn on. This man would have been a jolly Frenchman with a portly, doughboy-like figure and have been dressed in the normal whites and tall hat of the position. The only things that had been right with Kyle's imagined appearance of the chef was that he was short and French, otherwise Kyle was completely off base in his assumptions.

As the family was led into the grand ballroom, also know as, (no one gets to see the wizard not no one not know how) The Emerald Ballroom; there was only on other occupant of the room. Sean's eyes roamed over as much of the room as brilliant green's dominated the whole space from the jade mirrored dance floor which encompassed two-thirds of the room, to the plush lime colored sitting chairs; four to a round table.

As they reached the bar, Kyle noticed that even the lights themselves were tinted a shade of green. Slapping a hand heavily on the pale colored glass bar's countertop, Hannon made the man jump slightly; he had been bent over looking at the cabinets and hadn't seen them coming.

"What do you got for me?" Hannon smirked with his piggish mug.

"I hav' no-thing left after last nightz festivitez." The voice called from under the bar as the last cabinet was locked. His voice was smooth and thickened slightly by a soft accent. "It iz dry az a bone, zo to speak."

When the owner of the voice rose to his full height (which wasn't very high at all), the top of the man's dark chestnut hair came to just under Stan's chin. But the dark haired man wasn't abnormally skinny or thin, in fact the white shirt that tucked into his brown cargo pants displayed a powerfully built yet compact body. Dark, nearly black eyes took in Hannon's flabby width before they flickered too Stan's thick body. Finally the bushy eyebrows ceased their scowling as his coal-like eye locked on to Kyle's tall elegant form, the man behind the bar smiled and grabbed Kyle's hand; he placed a kiss onto the back of it.

"I have n'ver zeen zomeone zo lov'ly dat ze moon iz jealouz, a fin' f'male." The cook said smoothly as he slowly lowered the red-haired man's hand.

Kyle growled in the back of his throat, indignation rising. "Excuse me, I'm not a woman!"

"I meant no dizrespect, you juzt zeemed more, 'ow do you zay; uke."

The Frenchman shifted his attention to Stan and began to converse with him and apologize for the embarrassment that he may have caused to himself and to the adults. The four adults seemed to be lodged in a deep conversation about the fact that they didn't drink and the dark, dirt hued man grinned at certain spots. Kyle flinched softly, unnoticed by even himself, it occurred every time that the nearly black eye of the cook flicked back to Kyle's green ones.

(_hello little one, would you like some ice cream_)

It poured into him head slowly, like thick syrup clogging his mind for a moment. The voice that had spoken was like the Frenchman's own; however it lacked the roughness of the accent. This was odd to Sean, no one had every put there thoughts into his head before; he normally pulled them out of their mind. Reaching out with him mind, Sean found a blockade around the being of the Frenchman, more sepceifical protecting his mind from Sean.

This type of thing had only happened once before, Sean had been at a birthday party where a clown had been. Accidentally, Sean had reached out to every mind in the party but he had been blocked off from the clown; this interested the boy, who directed his wholeness to the thinly and poorly made barrier. The weak, layer of protection had been easily deposed of, letting Sean into the dark pool of the clown's thoughts.

Now here in the Emerald Ballroom, Sean assaulted the barrier with all his might and even though the shell was strong and withheld the first mental strike; several attacks later the shielding crumpled down around the Frenchman's mind. Sean spoke softly, not wanting to frighten the man.

(Who are you?)

There was a pause as the black eye's of the cook locked with Sean's brilliant blues. (_I am christophe delorne, but my friends call me the mole_)

(The mole?) Sean giggled mentally.

(_yes, the mole, do you know what you are special sean_) The cook continued to speak with Sean's Daddy and Pop even as his spoke with his mind. (_call me chris if it is more comfortable_)

(Okay Chris, I know do know that I'm special.)

(_do you know how special_)

Sean actually shook his head quickly, forgetting that everyone else could see what he was doing. Once this passed into his head, Sean blushed deeply and replied. (My Daddy says its cause I've got a nack.)

(_thats one way to put it, most people who have it call it the shining and boy you shine the brightest i have ever seen in my life_)

(the shining?)

(_yes, it lets you know things, see things, it leaves you open to things; my great-aunt and I would have full conversations with each other for hours, never opening our mouths._)

(More then just us shine?)

(_yes, you didn't think we are alone_)

(Do my Daddy and Pop?)

There was a long pause.

(Chris?)

(_im sorry, i think your pop as you say, shines just a little._)

(And my Daddy?)

(_i have never been around or felt anything like him before, its like looking down a dark well and not knowing what is in the dark. wait_)

The adults had finished there conversation now, and Hannon had taken leave of them. Stan had left with Hannon to gather the bags and move into their small caretaker's apartment; their home for the winter months. Christophe looked at Kyle and smiled before speaking to him.

"Good by' , my zweet." The dark haired man said as he began to leave the room. (_boy, places like this hotel can shine too, this place shine well but there only pictures, like those in a book, the can not hurt you_)

(Okie Dokie Chris, like pictures.)

(_good boy, sean_) Christophe looked back at the small boy, (_if you get really scared give me a shout with that big old beacon of yours and I'll come here, even if im half way across the country._)

(Really?)

The last bit of Christophe's mind snuck in before Kyle shook Sean from his silent reprieve. (_yes and be careful…oh yes and stay out…of...room…1...5…2_)

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	10. Nightmares

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**

**Nightmares**

The blanket pooled down low on Stan's waist, the tops of his hipbones peaking through. The post sexual bliss that had enveloped Kyle and let him drift off to sleep with a hand resting on Stan's thickset stomach, wouldn't take him. Stan wondered if this were because of the warm throbbing deep within his ass and as Stan wasn't normally used to being dominated or a bottom or 'uke' as the dark-humored chef had so delicately put it so (his ass hurt) he was uncomfortable.

But the raven haired man gladly allowed Kyle his dominance and let it be his own ass to be filled for once, even if only for Kyle to prove to himself that they were in fact equal. What had originally felt as though he was going to be ripped in half; now was a pleasant reminder of why they had stuck together. Even though it wasn't sleep dancing across his mind, Stan felt a moments relief as he spiraled back into his memories.

(_Little Stanley Marsh sat in the hallway, his diaper the only clothing that covered him this humid summer night. It was a little past eight as the sun had flared the whole sky, that little Stanley could see from the window red and gold. Across little Stanley's face and cheeks were small smears of green and tan mush; his dinner for the night. Right after Sharron, his mother had placed him down, little Stanley had half-crawled/ half-walked to his current place on the carpet in the main hall._

_There was a noise the filled the air for a moment, the sputtering growl of the car's worn down engine. Then it died, little Stanley's eye looked up as he tilted his head back, his father was coming home. It was plane time, flight time, space time. For little Stanley it was the world best time._

_The door swung open and there he stood, Randy Marsh, not what one would call a small man. Although to little Stanley, Randy was enormous and also a giant; the two images wrapped together in little Stanley's mind to produce some strange chimera form. Wordlessly, Randy looked down at his son, his special boy and grabbed him under his soft armpits._

_Little Stanley was whisked up into the air by his father's rough man hands, The two generation Marsh men looked at each other. Little Stanley's blue eye staring straight into his father bleary and bloodshot cobalt, Randy's breath rolled warmly from him mouth and the remains of recently consumed booze hung around the man head like a mist._

_"Upsy Daisy." Randy chuckled as he through little Stanley and caught him, "Like a bird hun, Stanley?"_

_"Again! AGAIN! Daddy! Go AGAIN"_

_Little Stanley's voice trailed away as Randy launched him up into the air again, this time however he through him completely over his head. The little boy, giggle violently as he flew through the air and then after Randy didn't catch him; came crashing down onto the hard floor. It left him feeling sore and fat tears of pain stood prominent in his large glassy eyes. That was the problem with the elevator game; sometimes you soared through the air other times you busted your ass.) _

A sharp pain ripped through Stan and he felt some of the warmth that had been filling him seep out and down on too his inner thigh; it dried quickly onto his warm skin and grew increasingly uncomfortable in the bed. Then the feelings dissolved leaving no tract that they had been there before; Stan's mind was finally falling asleep.

As the warmth of his lover slowed his breath and his eyes slipped shut, Stan's memories of the past slipped away into his unconscious mind. Now buried, Stan hopped those thoughts stayed put so that he wouldn't have to remember all the pains that had stripped him of his childhood.

The midnight chime was going off in the Crestview's master wall clock.

(_Unmask! Unmask!! Unmask!!!_)

(_rellik!_)

Kyle's bright green eyes snapped open, the nightmare that had flooded his sleep quickly disappearing back into whatever dark corner of his mind it had come. Resting his eyes closely shut again, the red haired man felt the horrors of the dream peaking out into his mind. At the moment, Kyle couldn't decide if what had happened was a far off memory that acted like a scattered dream of vice versa.

"God damn it." He murmur softly as his mind recaptured him and replayed the event again before his very eyes. But the difference now was Kyle was looking back at the incident with a mature mind. As he breathed in his lover's and his own lover musk he thought to himself that maybe he would understand what had happened this time.

"Go home Kyle." The red head whispered to himself, mind lost in his own dreamlike state.

("_But Mrs. Marsh, my mother said it would be okay for me to stay." The young Jewish teen implored his best friend's mom. _

_It was Stan's birthday the following day and they had planned to bring the raven haired boy into his teenage years in an all out/ all night sleepover. The pair would be the same age again. It was one of Kyle's pet peeves that the patient at that age that he was constantly reminded by Stan that he was in fact much older then Stan. _

_"I understand Kyle," Shannon Marsh said softly voice not rising above a whisper, "but it is late and Stan's father is going to be home any minute."_

_"So?"_

_Stan tugged slightly on his friends elbow, "So, my dad is very particular about things, kind of psychotically so. So as much as I would like to have you over for dinner and to spend the night; it would not good for you to be here. Especially not to see this." _

_Kyle could take a hint although sometimes, it took quite a large one to make any sort of impression on the Jewish teen. However the sight of a bruise fading on the back of Stan's neck and a bit of dark green tones around Mrs. Marsh's kind eye made his stomach tighten and his feet hold fast in place. Fear was what held the redhead in place as the sound of the truck in the driveway died out. Mr. Marsh was home from work and the bar._

_"Run Kyle," Mrs. Marsh whispered, "Leave quickly."_

_"Okay."_

_The teenage Jew spun on his heel and tried to get out the front door; however just before he reached the freedom of the out side, a thick black cane barred his way. It was then the owner came into view. Ever since the accident that has injured Mr. Marsh's spine, he had never been seen without the heavy bodied cane with its gold handle._

_"Hello Kyle, where are you going so fast?" His face cracked open with a smile and Kyle could smell the booze._

_Gasping the teen, put on his most calm expression, "I was heading home for dinner."_

_The answer didn't satisfy Mr. Marsh as he insisted that Kyle join them for a meal, mostly because he hadn't been around and Mr. Marsh wanted to ask about his parents. Silently they sat around eating._

_Knife cutting meat_

_Fork scrapping plates_

_All noises were heard in the dead silence that filled the meal with a suffocating pressure. Plates passed back and forth, always under the eyes of Mr. Marsh whose gaze followed each dish contemplating its taste. After thirty minutes of a meal, the elder Marsh male was snoring lightly in his chair; a hand resting on his bloated stomach and the other still fondling the gold round grip of the cane._

_"Would anybody like some dessert?" Mrs. Marsh said plainly._

_That's when it happened, faster then anybody could have seen. Mr. Marsh's plumped up hand, slipped down the shaft of the cane and brought it swinging up like an upper cut. The gold made straight contact to Mrs. Marsh jaw; she spiraled backward as Mr. Marsh rose from his chair with freakish speed._

_"I caught you by Christ!" He howled as he brought the cane across his body._

_It smashed into his wife's cheek and nose, causing a horrid cracking and splitting noise. The cane rose and fell again, raping Mrs. Marsh's face with the blood spattered handle. Slowly under each crazed blow, Mr. Marsh reduced her face to a bloody pulp of bone, blood and hair. Still the cane fell again and he screamed again._

_"THAT"S RIGHT BITCH! YOUR GONNA TAKE YOUR MEDICINE AND YOU WILL RESPECT ME!"_

_What scared Kyle the most was when Mrs. Marsh got up, blood dripping from her face a like a river. Softly with here head lowered she asked again._

_"Would anyone like dessert?"_

_Mr. Marsh had returned to his chair, already fondling the blood smeared cane. "I would like some dear.")_

She fell down the stairs, that was the excuse for her mashed appearance, Sharron told the police this, Stan told the police this. Even Kyle told the police this. But it was fear of the wrath that the cane held that made them lie, that lie protected them from pain. If only for a little while. Mind restless, Kyle turn into Stan and nuzzled his husbands back, letting the smell of his body and the warm this gave off comfort him back to sleep. However it was a most restless sleep. Full of memories and confused thoughts, Kyle was up again at dawn.


	11. In Another Room

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**In Another Room**

Sean rolled back and forth across the surface of the bed; he wasn't able to fall into a sleep because every time he seemed just about to go the bed got lumpy. The frustrating process continued as the small red head flipped over yet again and nearly fell off the bed. In a final effort to accomplish sleep on his own, Sean wrapped every comforter and blanket around his small body and buried his head under the twin pillows. The warm cave of sleep Sean had built was quickly becoming a roasting oven from his heavy breathing. Frustration completely set in and the small shaggy haired boy left his bed quickly; the cold night-time air prickling his skin.

Sock wearing feet padded along the carpet to his door, with a quick creak the wooden portal was open and Sean walked out into the apartment's hallway. It was colder there then in his room as a draft that rushed towards the front door caused the over-sized white t-shirt that the little red head wore like a dress to billow.

_(Ssseeaan)_

The boy looked back towards the door at the end of the hall and began to head towards it. It was Andy again, he hadn't heard from his in quite sometime; not since the day that Andy had shown him the monster with the mallet. The hallway door open silently as Sean passed through it and closed it once again, not trying to wake his Daddy or Pop. Sean had stepped out into the back side of the first floor and stood on its hardwood floors.

_(Andy? Are you there?)_ Sean questioned, straining his mind slightly

The mental shout echoed back on him and within it, Andy's voice was there _(Andy? rellik Ssseean rellllikk! Are you there?)_

The voice seemed to be pouring into his head from somewhere on the main floor, in the lobby. Sean's small feet beat the wooden, freshly varnished floor as he ran to the front lobby. As he rounded the corner, He knew Andy wasn't there but he couldn't stop his forward movement; the slippery ground took his feet out from under him. When his head cracked with the floor everything when red for a moment and as it cleared two new voices filled the air or at least in Sean mind.

(_Tweek, you disappoint me.)_ One voice muttered; male and thick.

The second voice was soft almost whisper-like and repeated over and over like a mantra, _(Ackk! Oh jeez! I'm sorry!)_

There was the sound of unseen footfall just inches from Sean, the sounds of grunting and panting. The small red head slid back away from the sounds; even though he couldn't see them, the noises alone made him scared. It sounded as this one man was being beaten the other over and over again.

_(Clyde! Stop! Oh jeez! I'm sorry! I'll get the money.) _

There was the sound of a body slamming to the floor fallowed by the voice of the first man again. _(Not good enough Tweek, imagine what Mr. Pirrip would say if he knew his hotel's manager was a coke head?)_

_(Oh god! You can't do that!)_

_(Then pay me my money!) _

_(Ack! I can't its too much pressure!)_

There was the sound of a body being shoved forcefully and then a sharp crack; it sound to Sean like the gun shot noise of when his arm broke. From the corner of the check in desk, crimson hues just blossomed like evil flowers. The blood ran down the wall and pooled in an ever growing puddle. As Sean stifled a scream and ran from the blood which had come out of nowhere, when the shaggy haired boy looked back into the lobby it was sparkling clean.

Just as Sean made in to his families apartment in the back he swore he could hear the first voice again, as if the conversation had started over. Like a big reset button had been pushed on the event.

(_Tweek, you disappoint me.)_

But as Sean slammed the door and locked it behind him the voices were cut off, not by him but more like someone had turn off a television. The voices got momentarily loader before flickering out of existence all together. Sleepily, Sean climbed back into bed; his terror already forgotten to the deadness of his sleep.

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End file.
